Elizabeth You Were Born To Play That Part
by littledaybreaker
Summary: Jack and Ianto have a daughter, then lose her, and deal in their own ways. MPreg.


_Author's Note: This is the first Torchwood fic I've ever written. I'm exceedingly proud about it but exceedingly nervous that it might be crap. Feedback is always appreciated. The title and the small snippet of song contained in the story are from "Elizabeth, You Were Born To Play That Part" by Ryan Adams._

**WARNINGS: CONTAINS MPREG (or at least mentions of such), SLASH, SWEARING, AND CHILD DEATH. If you do not want to read about any of these things, don't complain to me--just click "back".**

"Elizabeth, You Were Born To Play That Part"

Just as he brought Jack his coffee every morning, every night Ianto brought Elizabeth her cup of water. On this particular night, he stood in the doorway of her bedroom and examined it from afar. The walls were painted the colour of mulberries and plastered with decorations—painted wooden letters spelling out LILY, her pet name, hung in a place of prominence above her bed by her coveted Jonas Brothers poster. Her school uniform—white tights, grey pleated skirt, red jumper, and shiny black Mary Janes—was slung across her desk chair with her schoolbag atop it. The closet doors were ajar, partially obstructing the family pictures that adorned them. The lamp on the bedside table was on and the blinds were closed, bathing the room in warm yellowish light. The dollhouse in the corner was alive with the illusion of activity—Barbie dolls sat stiffly with their plastic legs straight in front of them, smiling vaguely in the direction of the plastic television, which was frozen on a picture of Ken and Barbie in wedding clothes. In the "drive" their neon pink plastic Ferrari was parked, a Kelly doll forgotten in the back seat, upside down with her tiny feet in the air. The sight made Ianto feel sick. Lily wasn't there. Wasn't going to be there and, if the collection of water cups was to be believed, hadn't been there for several days. Six. Ianto's stomach lurched and he set the glass—the seventh—on the bedside table and sat on the bed, picking up an abandoned teddy bear and burying his face in it as he blinked at the room, the lamplight changing from peaceful to unsettling, the cheerful, mulberry-coloured child's room now the set of a horror movie. Ianto wanted to get up and run, to climb into bed with Jack and let Jack take everything away, to wave his magic wand and take them back to last Friday, before there was anything to worry about.

Jack hadn't wanted to have children. Ianto had. He'd thought of it as one more thing he had to give into, another compromise he had to make to keep his lover. And then he'd gotten pregnant. He hadn't realised it could happen—he'd heard the stories, but, being that it had never happened to him before, he didn't think it could happen at all--so when it did (and was subsequently discovered at a routine check up—"Mr Jones, were you aware of the tumour in your abdomen? And were you aware, Mr Jones, that it was human-formed and had a heartbeat?") he hadn't really known what to do. He suffered quietly through the first three months of constant nausea and mood swings (Gwen's chipper "Hi, Ianto!" one morning had him crying hysterically for the better part of the day) and figured he would suffer through the remaining six in the same way, carefully avoiding more than basic contact with Jack and incrementally letting the waist of his trousers out. He figured that if he ignored Jack—said good morning when he put his coffee on his desk but otherwise said nothing to him, disappearing quietly off into the depths of busywork, Jack would forget about him.

It wasn't easy—his love for Jack and his delicate emotional state caused it to be almost impossible at times—but Ianto wanted his baby. He wanted it above anything else—above his happiness, above his job, above his liver—and in turn he was willing to sacrifice all of those things for it.

Jack found out just as Ianto was entering his fourth month. Ianto had misjudged what time Jack would be in his office and got there before he did. Jack, for his part, was happy to see Ianto, and snuck up behind him, wrapping his arms around Ianto's waist. The baby turned over under Jack's touch and Ianto froze. Jack whirled him around so they were facing each other. "How long?" he asked, face blessedly blank. Ianto bit his lip. "Five months." Jack counted backwards. "That's why you've been avoiding me." Ianto nodded, blinking hard and fast against the oncoming tears. "I'm sorry, Jack," he said in a tiny voice. "I—I'll take care of it," he added, unable to look Jack in the eye. Jack pulled him close, hugging him fiercely. "I will, too," he whispered.

Elizabeth Winifred Harkness, 7 pounds 13 ounces, was born five months later, and Ianto, for once, had everything he wanted. In the present, five years later, Ianto often dwelt upon the stupidity, the naivety, that had made up his person back then. He'd been convinced that, because Jack was there, and Elizabeth was there, they would always be there. There was no way of knowing then that in five years and eight months to the day, he would be alone.

If Ianto closed his eyes, sitting on Elizabeth's small white cast-iron little girl bed and holding the teddy bear that Jack had given to her on her fifth birthday--if you pressed its middle it said, "Hi, Lily, it's daddy. I love you lots, all the time, even when I'm not at home with you. I'm always thinking of you. I love you."--he could take himself back to last Friday, when he had been as naive as he had the day Lily was born.

It had all gone wrong when they met Jack for dinner that Saturday evening. Jack had made the reservation for seven. Ianto had thought it was too late for Lily. If there was a long wait for the food or it was too loud and crowded, she would be overstimulated. It was the perfect environment, he said, for a tantrum. Lily had sworn up and down to be good, and Jack had wheedled him right along with her until Ianto gave in. It had turned out to be a perfect meal, wherein Lily was charming and polite and the waitress gushed about how she was just the spitting image of Ianto ("You look just like your daddy, love!" "He's my mummy, actually.") and afterwards, when she was full of pasta and chocolate cake and three refills of apple juice, Ianto took her left hand and Jack took her right and they walked out into the warm early June evening. They bought her a book at the nearby bookshop for being such a good girl in the posh restaurant, and then agreed that, as an extra treat, they would take the train home.

That was, Ianto knew, where it had all gone wrong, the fucking train. If he could rip the tracks out and develop a law to ban the child-killing bastards, he would. No doubt. Lily had loved going on the train, although she was unreasonably terrified on any underground train. She loved everything else about them, though. She loved sitting in the seat that faced backward and loved pressing the "open door" button and waiting in the station and telling Ianto stories about the people who were waiting with them. Ianto had always felt vaguely unsettled around trains, especially where Lily was concerned. They were so big and fast and dangerous, and no matter how far back of the line they stood, Ianto was afraid of them falling forward to their unpreventable death. Jack, who was fearless, and Lily, who had inherited this fearlessness, told him often exactly how silly he was about it, but the fear Ianto and refused to let go. He was afraid of anything that could harm Lily or take her away from him, but he was especially afraid of trains. They couldn't have more children--they weren't trying, exactly, but they had never been careful, either, and still Lily was the only one. Ianto had never known how he got pregnant, only that he had, and if she hadn't been right in front of him, acting like Jack and looking like him, he would have often thought he dreamt her.

On that Saturday, that horrible Saturday when time stopped, Jack had agreed to come home with them (so many nights he preferred to stay at Tand they had taken the train. He and Ianto walked leisurely to the platform while Lily ran ahead. "Wait for mummy and daddy," Ianto had called to her, and she'd shouted back, "I'll wait on the platform!" Ianto could remember relaxing, walking unhurriedly along with Jack, Jack's hand in his. Lily knew what to do, he assured himself. She would sit on the bench and wait for them, and she was right in their line of vision. She would be fine.

He head the train and saw her fall simultaneously. He and Jack were at the top of the stairs. "ELIZABETH!" Ianto screamed, and he let go of Jack's hand at the same instant that Jack let go of his hand, and they flew down the steps, both shouting for Elizabeth. The train had stopped and a crowed had gathered by the time Jack and Ianto made it down, but it was too late.

They had rushed toward the train, breathless and babbling" "That was Elizabeth, oh my God, Elizabeth, Lily, our daughter, fell off the platform..." and people surrounded them to offer their condolences. Ianto's mind had already started moving in slow-motion, closing off the possibility that this--what he had feard for so long--had come true. He, Ianto Jones, had faced death many times. He had faced aliens and angry cyberwomen and come out alive. He had kept his little girl shielded from the horrors of the world which her parents inhabited, so that she wouldn't have to be a part of it, so that she could have a chance at normality. He had dedicated the better part of six years to eeping her away from it all so that she _could_ stay alive, _wouldn't _have to die in a horrific and unnatural way, and yet she did anyway--the thing that she loved most was the thing that took her away, and Ianto refused to consider the possibility.

What he remembered most about the proceeding week were inconsequential details. He had been interviewed by every major newspaper in the country and most of the minor ones, and there wasn't a television station that didn't have Lily's nursery school portrait plastered across the screen and the soundbite of Jack, in shock, saying, "It just...she just--was blown away," the first thing either of them were able to say out on the platform, but the things Ianto could remember were smaller, almost unimportant. He could recall her shoe--it had come off when she fell--being handed to him by the first police officer on the scene. It was a pale pink silk Mary Jane with chocolate brown polka dots. The Velcro had come off the strap when she fell, and Ianto recall the loose threads on the strap when the shoe was handed to him, the way they hung limply, defeated. Though he couldn't remember her coming, he could remember throwing up all over the back seat of Gwen's car in the station car park. The memorial service was a total blank, but he had a continual loop of a pink lily from one of the flower arrangements, fluttering slightly with some unseen breeze. And he couldn't remember actually feeling sad, though he remembered crying, endless tears, so many that they filled him up, made him too heavy to move.

Jack spent a lot of time at work now. They had been told to come back whenever they were "ready", and though Ianto didn't feel like he'd ever be ready to face the outside world, especially not in such a dangerous manner, Jack had gotten up and gone to work bright and early Monday morning. Ianto reckoned that Jack--who had been thrown into a father-role that he didn't necessarily want to be thrown into--was secretly relieved to no longer play hat role and wanted to be away from Ianto, who _had _wanted to play the role and was so consumed by grief at the loss that he was barely functioning. The idea unsettled Ianto, but it was all he had to go on. Why else would he go to work two days after his only child died, before what remained of her body had been buried, while the slow motion film of her death still played in 24 hour loop in Ianto's mind?

* * *

Just like with everything else he did, Jack had his reasons. They weren't the ones Ianto suspected, but just as there always had been, there was a reason for Jack who, like Ianto, wanted to curl up in bed and stay there forever, to get up every morning and go to work, staying until everyone but Gwen (he was sure Ianto was paying her to "keep him company" had gone home, until she finally put out the light and said, "It's after midnight, Jack. Ianto is waiting at home for you, isn't he?"

He wanted to bring Lily back. Even if it was only for a minute, or an hour, or a day, he wanted to press a rewind button and go back to the moment he let her run ahead, put a firm hand on her shoulder and say, "Wy not show mummy your new book," or "How about I give you a piggy back ride down the stairs?" or _anything_ to change the outcome of that nightmare of a day.

It was impossible. He knew it was impossible. She was an ordinary human girl who had died in an unfathomable, but human, way. He couldn't change that, and he knew he couldn't, he'd tried. He'd gone back a hundred times, a million times, and he was always too late, if only by a second. He could change other people's pasts, but Captain Jack Harkness couldn't change his own.

Sometimes, when he lost it in the second he thought he finally had it, he wondered if this was some sort of punishment, God's retribution for him wishing, when Ianto was pregnant, that he could go back and fix that, too. Jack didn't believe in God. That probably also had something to do with it.

It wasn't that he hadn't wanted children. It was more that he had been around for a long time and had managed to avoid having to become a parent for so long that he'd begun to wonder if it was even a possibility, and he didn't want to let Ianto down.

He'd been surprisingly hurt when he'd found out, completely by accident. Ianto had obviously been keeping it from him for a reason, but it still _hurt_--maybe they had moved past "casual shag" but they had obviously not moved into a place where they could talk about things that might impact their relationship--things like, oh, a baby. It had turned out all right, he thought--he'd been surprisingly good at playing family with Lily and Ianto. It was easy; effortless. Lily was so much like Ianto that it was hard not to love her (although Ianto was fond of telling Jack that he found it so easy to love her because she was so much like _him_) and by the time she was six months old, he could not recall what it was he was so apprehensive about in the first place.

Ianto had always taken great care to make sure Lily was kept out of "their world" as much as he could, but Jack--much to Ianto's annoyance--would come home and tell Lily fantastic stories of all the things they had done, all the "bad guys" her mummy and daddy had defeated. He was certain that she didn't really believe him, and told Ianto as much whenever he kicked up a fuss. Lily was just a normal girl, he promised, a normal little girl like Ianto had always wanted. Nothing was going to happen; Jack wouldn't let any harm befall their little girl.

Although he also wanted to keep that promise to Ianto, Jack had other, slightly more selfish motives for bringing Lily back. Lily was their only one. Jack had made certain of that after he found out Ianto was pregnant and never told him. It had been a bitter, vindictive thing, although at the time he'd thought it was fair--Ianto had done something irreversible to him, so why shouldn't he do something irreversible to Ianto? At the time, he wasn't thinking of the idea that something could happen to the baby. As a parent, even a reluctant parent, you don't consider the idea that anything bad could possibly happen to your children. Jack had come to accept that he would have to bury his children--it was just another part of his life he had to push through, an unpleasant part of living forever that he would survive because he had no other choice. But he'd never imagined he'd have to bury a child while she was still a _child, _still five years old, still all warm smiles and big hugs and hair ribbons, and he never imagined that he would have to live with the guilt of knowing that he'd been arrogant enough to permanently eliminate the possibility of having another because he'd assumed that the first one would be around for a little while longer.

The sun had started coming up by the time Jack looked up from his computer. The lights were still on, and Gwen was asleep on the sofa, clutching a cup of coffee. He nudged her awake, and she stumbled up, rubbing her eyes. "I'll drive you home," she offered."

Jack pulled on his coat. "Isn't whatsisface waiting for you?"

"He can wait a little while longer," she replied. "Don't bother arguing."

He shrugged, and they shuffled outside in the silence of two half-asleep people. They were nearly to her car when she finally dared ask, "Nothing tonight?"

"Nuh."

She touched his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the heat of her hand. "I'm sorry, Jack."

He shrugged again, getting in the passenger's side door. "Me too," he muttered, not bothering to fasten his seatbelt as she peeled out of the car park.

He dozed off nearly as soon as Gwen started driving, but woke suddenly as they passed the train station where Lily had died, empty now except for a few people in power suits getting ready for their morning commute. A week ago, Ianto would have been one of them, sitting in the bus shelter with Lily, dressed in her school uniform and holding a steamed milk with caramel, he on his way to work, her on her way to school. Jack ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. Gwen was playing a CD on the stereo--something soothing with a piano. By the time they were pulling up Ianto's street, he had nearly fallen asleep again, but something in the song caught his attention. "_I'm caught in an endless dream and I'm not strong enough to let you go. And I've tried everything but that, oh, Elizabeth."_ He sprung up, though Gwen hadn't quite stopped moving, waving frantically and shouting his thanks as he bolted for the house.

The house was silent and dark except for a light down the hallway. He assumed it was his and Ianto's bedroom--maybe Ianto had waited for him. Maybe he could tell him everything now. When he turned down the hallway, however, his breath caught. It was _Elizabeth's _light that was on, not his and Ianto's. His heart pounding in anticipation, Jack peeked around the doorway.

Sometime during his reverie, Ianto had fallen asleep, holding Lily's teddy bear. He was curled on his side the way Lily slept, one arm clutching the teddy bear, the other draped across his forehead. Jack sighed, and he realised that, for the first time since Lily died, he was really crying. Gently disentangling Ianto from the bear, Jack picked him up, and hefted him into their bed, in their room. Then he went back and flicked off Elizabeth's light, closing her door. She wasn't coming back. She had been, just as Ianto had always wanted, an ordinary little girl who lived an ordinary life and died an ordinary death, and because of that, she couldn't come back. That night, Jack believed in Heaven, and he believed that Elizabeth was there, happy as can be, with all the Fancy Nancy books that God could produce. Jack crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around Ianto, closing his eyes. Tomorrow, he would tell Ianto what he'd done and what he'd been trying to do. Tomorrow, he'd stay home and make breakfast. Tomorrow, they'd start again. But for now, he was going to cuddle his lover and get some rest.


End file.
